


Whumped Wakening

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whumped Watson wakes and wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whumped Wakening

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt: JWP #4: **Oh say can you see…** the [alliteration ](http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/alliteration?s=t)in this lyric? Use at least one alliterative sentence in today's entry - and the more alliterations, the better!  
>  **Warnings** : Short snipped with far too flowery phrases. **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
>  

 

There had been pain, absolute agony. He remembered that much, though he could not now recall why, or when, or what had caused it. Instinctively, he attempted to tense against the tenuously-held echo of torment, but his limbs remained loose, lethargic, limp.  His leaden lids, lifted briefly in his momentary alarm, lowered before he could learn anything more of his surroundings than _cozy, comfortable, safe_.

A soft sibilant sound stopped his slow slide towards somnolence.

“Shush! Your yowling will wake Watson!”

He knew that voice, viscerally, though his wandering wits struggled sluggishly to surface it. _Holmes. Sherlock Holmes._

“’’Ere now, no need fer that!” A high-pitched hiss heckled Holmes, childish indignation plain as a pikestaff in every sputtered syllable. “’E’s a marvelous mouser, is me Mickey.”

“I’m certain he is, lad, but moggies, however meretricious, should not skulk about in a sleeping man’s sickroom. Kindly take him outside, please.”

“Ye heard the man, Bob, not that he should’ve had reason to tell ye what a mite o’ common sense would’ve done, had ye been thinkin’. Off with ye now!”

“Aw, mam!”

“Ye heard me!” A shuffle of soles and a soft stir in the air, and he sensed the boy had slipped away. “He’s a bit soft-headed, is our Bob, but he means well, Mr. Holmes. He’s that attached to that cat, he prob’ly thinks he can help heal him – your friend – along with everythin’ else. He credits the creature for finding the fellow, you know, down in the ditch. Lord! He gave me a shock, screechin’ an’ shriekin’ to the skies as there’s a murdered man in the mud! Not that I can fault him for the fright, what with all the blood and bruisin’ and all, nor for thinkin’ your friend was a corpse.”

“He might have been, had you not helped him,” Holmes said quietly. “I am infinitely grateful to your Bob, and to you.” A pause. “And to the cat, of course.”

_As am I_ , he wanted to add, but Morpheus struck, stifling his unspoken words as he stilled all other senses. Watson knew no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 4, 2013


End file.
